


Divine

by Choke-a-Bro (Vanya_Deyja)



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: AU, M/M, Multi, Pre-Slash, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-23
Updated: 2020-02-23
Packaged: 2021-02-28 07:15:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22859860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vanya_Deyja/pseuds/Choke-a-Bro
Summary: Ignis manages not to disgrace himself as he makes his way onto his knees. The Astral seems to glow up close and Ignis is somewhere between petrified and mesmerised. He wasn’t being serious with all that stuff. Whoever is listening he didn’t actually want to attend the Astral. That was a joke. Please, whoever’s listening—
Relationships: Gladiolus Amicitia/Prompto Argentum/Noctis Lucis Caelum/Ignis Scientia
Comments: 31
Kudos: 152





	Divine

Ignis Scientia is in line for the throne of Tenebrae but he’s very far down the chain. Tenebrae, ancestral home of the Oracles, has a matrilineal line of succession. Males hold important positions in the feudal government but females have supremacy in matters of inheritance. Concerning the throne itself there’s the Nox Fleuret line and then the daughters of their closest noble relatives; the Scientias. That tenuous connection to power has gotten Ignis through the door today.

Lunafreya saw it almost a year ago— the Six intended to bestow Eos with an Astral. A rare once in a millennia kind of deal. Bahamut had one condition; all the royal houses of Eos were to assemble in their entirety. So here Ignis stands, in Altissia, hands delicately folded in his lap, waiting for the presentation.

Lunafreya, his delicate elfin cousin, waits at the altar with her ceremonial trident muttering prayers. The twenty strong Scientias and her brother Ravus wait in the pews.

To Ignis’ right he can see the Lucian royals; the Amicitias, waiting with a kind of stern eagerness. Lucis, like Tenebrae, is stepped in magical history. The Lucians maintain control of the Crystal and they take both their religion and warrior culture very seriously. Theirs is proud line, sure, but like the Nox Fleurets they are viciously traditional. If the gods ordered their firstborn sons slaughtered the Lucians would come through where all other nations protested.

To Ignis’ left are the Aldercapts of Niflheim. Theirs is the youngest royal family in Eos. They have unified the raw, disorganised, kingdoms of their continent into an empire barely a hundred years old. They’re bucks. They’re egotistical and what they lack in magic or tradition they make up for with grandeur and technological advancement. They dress too gaudy for Ignis’ taste and, keen to cement their supremacy through nepotism, they breed like rabbits. The assembled royal family is nearly sixty strong in the pews. At the back of the temple its standing room only and some distant cousins look miffed to have been thus jilted.

Ignis ignores them to watch the light streaming through the stain glass intensify. Their guest is arriving. Astrals are… they’re a kind of miniature god or demi-god. Supremely magical, innately linked to the Six, and capable of turning whole worlds with their fickle moods. How they’re born, how they’re crafted, is something of divine mystery but each one is unique to their respective millennia. They seem to live and die like a mortal even if in every other way they are fundamentally different.

The Nox Fleurets and senior Scientias are hoping for a girl or woman but Ignis sees instantly in the dissipating light that his aunt is going to be disappointed. It’s a boy.

The Astral is greeted by Lunafreya. She offers him water as is traditional and, taking her hand, he steadies himself on his newly crafted feet. She smiles, soft and sweet, and he returns her innate charm with a matching tone of gratitude. They’re both beautiful, both whimsical, and Ignis feels his stomach twist. Astrals determine everything about their own lives; where they live, how they live… the mortals of Eos merely respect their wishes and fear retribution for any perceived insults. Ignis hopes, selfishly, that the Astral will chose to live in Tenebrae. He could stand to watch those graceful limbs more regularly. Ignis immediately has to chide his innate weakness for pretty boys. That said… While his upbringing tells him to respect and adore the gods his gut reminds him the history books recount amorous Astrals going back centuries.

The Astral and Oracle exchange a few words in private, the Astral taking a deep, desperate, swig of the water which will tie him to the mortal realm. The Astral laces their fingers by his side and Lunafreya permits it warmly but somehow sexlessly. Luna has always managed to carry herself with a pure, innocent, air. She could make filth look coy.

The Astral asks for something and Luna has an attendant fetch her the microphone which she then presents to him.

“I am Noctis Caelum,” the Astral outlines plainly. “Today I will take one of each of your number and form a covenant with them. They will attend me while on Eos.”

Ignis steals a quick glance across the pews. This is a rare privilege. Astrals rarely form covenants without some grander plan at work and those selected are nothing if not arguably pre-destined for the honour. The Six would’ve made their Astral and the mortals intermingled with this grand scheme in mind. The air in the temple is instantly filled with a tangible, greedy, excitement. The Lucians are keen, the Aldercapts are already scheming how they can use this to their advantage, and the Scientias and Nox Fleurets of Tenebrae are brazenly thrilled at the prospect of more divine favour…

Ignis waits with the heart of a spectator. He’s keen to watch the drama unfold from a distance. He wants the excitement, thrills for the twists and turns, but he expects nothing for himself.

The Astral regards the crowd but something shifts in his face.

There is a subtle but distinct shift in the temperature of the room as he breaks into a gentle frown.

“Iedolas Aldercapt, stand.” The Astral orders.

The Niffs look naively excited as their wiry old Emperor takes his feet and is handed a microphone.

“Yes, your Eminence?”

Well at least someone in their camp has researched the traditional forms of address.

“You disappoint me.”

The tension in the temple immediately skyrockets.

Emperor Aldercapt looks like, for the first time in his life, he’s unsure what to say. The assembled glance, furtively, back and forth between the Astral and the mortal.

“Your people are not assembled.” The Astral informs him.

“We have gathered every royal son and daughter of Niflheim, your Eminence,” Aldercapt chuckles weakly. “Surely—”

“You think I’m mistaken?” The Astral snaps.

The room is turning colder and colder by the second. Not just the mood either, the literal temperature is physically dropping. The Astral looks visibly displeased now.

“No, of course not your Eminence,” Aldercapt quickly backtracks.

Ignis wants to swear. He can see his aunt turning pale. The Astral’s been here less than five minutes and the Niffs are already insulting him? Fuck. They’re not going to survive this century.

“One of your number is missing.” The Astral clarifies sharply for Aldercapt. “You will present me with the entirety of you clan _immediately_.”

“Eminence,” Aldercapt is plainly struggling and is starting to look nervous, “I’m afraid I don’t understand. All of my blood kin living are here before—”

“Prompto Argentum.” The Astral snaps in a clipped, cold, impatient tone.

Aldercapt only looks more confused. He glances to his children and relatives ferreting for some explanation. They’re drowning, looking for something to grab hold of before they send the Astral flying into a rage and doom everyone in the temple.

A blonde, stern, looking Niff forces his way down the pew to Aldercapt and whispers roughly in his ear. Aldercapt’s expression morphs from confused to indignant. He whispers something back to the Niff, something rough, something that promises trouble for the man and turns back to the microphone quickly.

“We do not consider that boy one of our clan. He does not stand to inherit—”

“He is of your blood. He has a mortal soul.” The Astral maintains. “You will present him to me.”

Another whisper from the blonde man and now Aldercapt looks outright nervous.

“Your Eminence, he’s in the _Artic_ , we—”

“We will not proceed until all are present.” The Astral informs.

“But—”

“ _Go get him_.” The Astral clips, accentuating every syllable as if he’s speaking to a lunatic.

Aldercapt, red with something suspended between humiliation and fury, nods quickly.

“Yes, your Eminence,” he surrenders.

“We will adjourn until then.” The Astral decides mercifully. “I will take my rest.”

* * *

Altissia is crowded with all the royal guests. It’s an assassin’s wet dream. Luckily Ignis is only of moderate importance. Oh he holds a significant position in Tenebrae politics and tradition, he stands to inherit a great deal, but he has little claim to any throne what with all his sisters and his beautiful cousin. Because of this Ignis is permitted the luxury of exploring the city relatively unhindered. He meets a few beautiful Accordan men but his family have insisted their number remain celibate during the divine recess, amongst other things, so Ignis can’t… _express himself_. Not properly anyway. So he smiles, eats good food, and checks on his cousins as frequently as he can.

Luna is sequestered with the Astral, attending him and keeping him company. Camelia Claustra of Altissia insists Lady Lunafreya “ _keep the divine from decimating her city_ ” by placating him and abating his foul mood until the Niffs can come up with their missing royal.

Ravus and Ignis are trying, desperately, to ascertain what’s going on with the Niffs. Who is Prompto Argentum? Aldercapt, Besithia, and Tummelt are the only acknowledged branches of the Niflheim royal family. Argentum’s not even on the list. Is he some Prince’s bastard? The man, the one who spoke to Aldercapt, they’ve identified as Verstael Besithia, head of the Besithia branch, but he doesn’t currently have any children. _Apparently_. Ravus bet is bastard. Ignis isn’t totally convinced. If bastards were being included in the headcount every royal family in Eos would’ve arrived a few members short by that logic.

Two days later the Niffs finally inform Lady Lunafreya, and by extension the Astral, that they have collected Prompto Argentum and brought him into attendance. Someone has been hurried to do this, a few people have likely almost lost their heads over this, but luckily the missing boy is accounted for so the following morning they all assemble, _again_ , in the temple.

“Well, if we’re done making me wait?” the Astral huffs into the microphone from the altar. The room, tense and silent, hopes the storm will blow over now he’s been appeased. “Alright, better.”

Ignis settles back down, waiting for the lottery wins to reveal themselves. Who gets to spend their lifetime walking on eggshells with a moody divine? Who gets to adore that gorgeous, lithe, creature? Ignis thinks he could endure the famous spoilt temperament for a chance to kiss those cheekbones…

“Gladiolus Amictia,” the Astral summons, “you will be the first to attend me.”

The Lucians look like they want to break into applause instantly. Gladiolus of the house Amicitia is their crown prince. They will take this as a sign their house is receiving divine favour, they will use this to bolster their power, they will use this to intensify their stern, warrior, culture.

Gladiolus Amicitia rises to his feet, grinning smugly, and Ignis has to admit he’s quite a beast of a man. Big, broad, muscled in a way few politicians ever are. Ignis has to wonder if his back and arms are sprawled with the famed royal tattoo under that ceremonial garb? That would be quite an imposing, thrilling, sight. Gladiolus is huge, probably hung like a horse too, and he mounts the altar to present himself on bended knee to the Astral. The Lucians, for all their fierceness, are loyal to the Six in an equally passionate way.

The Astral steps closer, curls a hand on his shoulder, and pulls the Prince’s face into his navel without beckoning him to stand. Gladiolus doesn’t even twitch. He doesn’t try to find his feet, he doesn’t flinch, he seems to quite enjoy the way the Astral’s hand slides to rest on the back of his neck. Honestly? Ignis does not blame him _at all_.

“Prompto Argentum,” the Astral smirks, “you will join him.”

The Niffs look at once pale and terrified. Ignis is instantly pleased. Whoever Prompto Argentum is they _did not_ want the Astral to choose him. There’s a pause, a murmur, and the crowd cranes their necks for a solid thirty seconds before Verstael Besithia retches a scrawny blonde boy in a borrowed, too big, uniform up onto his feet and pushes him towards the altar. 

Prompto Argentum is the exact physical opposite of Gladiolus Amicitia. He is small, pale and blonde where Gladiolus is big, tan and dark. He looks like he’s going to throw up. He looks like he’s never, ever, been in a room with an important person let alone a divine manifestation. He stumbles once, hurrying down the aisle, and then again trying to mount the altar. Luna, always merciful, catches him from face planting and pushing him, encouragingly, the last few steps to the Astral where he drops like a stone onto his knees and tucks his chin against his chest.

The Astral eases away from Gladiolus and puts a hand on Prompto Argentum’s shoulder. Prompto does flinch, like he’s expecting to be hit, and the Astral pauses to glance down at him. Leaning down he cups Prompto Argentum’s cheek and titling his chin up greets him with a honeyed smile Ignis can only dream about. Ignis swears he can feel Prompto Argentum swallowing the rock in his throat. Hand moving through his hair the Astral releases him from his direct attention if not his indirect patting and raises the microphone one final time.

This is by far the best part of the day. The Tenebrae representative. Ignis grins to himself. Will it be his moron younger brother? Stern Ravus? His graceful wet-blanket aunt? Beautiful cousin Luna?

“Ignis Scientia,” the Astral calls, “you will make three.”

Ignis freezes.

He glances away from his assembled family to the altar and tilts his head. Is he… is he hearing things…? He didn’t just say…?

Ravus elbows him roughly, giving him a forceful look, and fumbling Ignis finds his lips moving stupidly. He’s frozen in shock. Ignis’ aunt leans over the pew behind him to shove his shoulders and prompt him onto his feet like a puppet. He makes it up but he suddenly understands why Prompto Argentum looked so sick.

 _Oh holy shit_.

 _Holy royal horseshit_.

Trying not to swear, swallowing his breath, Ignis pushes his glasses up his nose and exits into the aisle up towards the altar.

Ignis manages not to disgrace himself as he makes his way onto his knees. The Astral seems to glow up close and Ignis is somewhere between petrified and mesmerised. He wasn’t being serious with all that stuff. Whoever is listening he didn’t actually want to attend the Astral. That was a joke. Please, whoever’s listening—

The Astral grins, microphone by his side, and pulls Ignis’ glasses down his nose fractionally. He looks him dead in the eye, the place his fingertips touched _physically tingling_ , and grinning pushes Ignis’ glasses back up with the same coy sass.

Ignis is so, so, screwed.

“We will to Lucis,” the Astral informs the temple, “you are all dismissed. For now.”

Lowering the microphone the Astral glances down at them.

“Cept you three, of course.” He grins.

Ignis can hear the assembled nobles rising to their feet in the pews, filing out, and he can practically feel the satisfaction rolling off Gladiolus Amicitia in waves.

“Do you require anything, your Eminence?” Luna asks, taking the microphone off the Astral and switching it off.

“Not for now,” he decides. “We will retire to Gladiolus’ rooms.”

Figures, Gladiolus is a crown prince. Out of the three of them he will have the biggest hotel suite.

Ignis mind is spinning. A lifetime of training and praying is gargling up in his brain. What the fuck is he supposed to do in this reality? Fuuuuuuuu---

“Ignis,” the Astral turns, “am I forgetting something? I feel like…”

Ignis lifts his head, fumbling.

“Uh…” he clears his throat. “Perhaps Lady Lunafreya could organise for my and Mister Argentum’s luggage to be brought to Prince Gladiolus’ suite? For everyone’s comfort, your Eminence.”

“That’s what I’m forgetting, definitely,” the Astral nods, glancing to Luna; “can you…?”

“Of course, your Eminence,” Luna bows.

“I-I don’t…” Prompto Argentum manages two words before he seems to collapse in on himself, tucking his head down impossibly further.

“Hmm?” The Astral nudges.

“I don’t have luggage…?” Prompto whispers, adding quickly. “Your Eminence.”

The Astral shifts into another pinched frown but pushes Prompto’s fringe back from his face gently.

“Gladiolus,” the Astral turns, still petting Prompto. “Will the Lucians make sure Prompto has everything he needs?”

“Of course, your Eminence,” Gladiolus promises certainly, chin up. “We will be generous hosts.”

“There,” the Astral whispers to Prompto, “problem solved for now.”

“Thank you, Sir,” Prompto whispers hoarsely, hands curled into tight fists on his knees, eyes clamped shut.

* * *

The Lucians are staying at the Altissian Leville, an expensive venue to be sure, and Ignis suspects Gladiolus’ things have been very quickly shifted into King Clarus’ suite given the exorbitance of the setting. This is crazy even for the Lucians.

The servants on hand have, indeed, shifted Ignis’ things into the lounge as per the Astral’s request and collapsing on the couch the Astral reaches for Prompto Argentum. He pulls the blonde onto the seat next to him and then practically into his lap. Arms around the blonde Niff he tucks Prompto’s head onto his shoulder, under his chin, and holds him tight with a surreal fondness.

“Can I get you anything, your Eminence?” Gladiolus hesitates for the first time.

“No, sit,” the Astral orders, “and its Noctis. I’m Noctis with you, always.”

“Of course, Noctis,” Gladiolus swears sinking into an armchair.

Prompto looks like he’s been captured, like he’s going to shit his pants any second now.

Ignis gathers his courage and takes a seat on the couch next to them. “Noctis,” he tries weakly, the name feeling strange and foreign on his tongue. It feels wrong to call a divine being something so personal. “Perhaps Mister Argentum—”

“Prompto,” Noctis corrects.

“Perhaps Prompto,” Ignis submits, “needs a little space for now?”

Prompto’s eyes dart, anxiously, between Ignis and Noctis. He looks almost pleading.

“But…” Noctis wavers.

“It’s been a very big day,” Ignis tries to be as gentle as possible. “We’re very delighted you chose us but Prompto seems a little nervous, not to put words in his mouth, but perhaps just a little space…?”

“I…” Noctis pouts, “alright.” He surrenders, hands easing off the blonde.

Prompto sits up and Ignis swears he can see his heart hammering in the vein in his neck but the look Prompto shoots him is subtly, desperately, grateful.

“If you still want to be…” Ignis choses his words closely, “uh, _close_ to someone, I’m sure Prince Gladiolus will—?”

“Gladio,” Noctis corrects again.

“Gladio,” Ignis repeats, playing along.

“Yeah, of course,” Gladio permits warmly. “If you want—”

Noctis, ignoring what was likely an offer to rearrange the seating arrangements, climbs into the Prince’s lap. Gladiolus laughs, breathlessness revealing his own awe, and gathers the Astral up. Noctis slumps into his chest, legs dangling over the arm of the armchair, and rests his head on the Prince’s shoulder. Instantly the supernatural creature looks happier.

Gladio wraps both arms around him, holds him tight, and tracing circles in his clavicle the Astral sags gently. Gladio seems curious to try more, to rub his back, to stroke his hair, but he lays off for now and Ignis totally understands his uncertainty.

“It’s, uh, nice to meet you both?” Gladio supposes cordially.

“Yes, of course,” Ignis agrees. “Seems we’ll be spending a lot of time together from now on.”

“We’re… we’re going to Lucis, right?” Prompto asks.

“Tomorrow,” Gladio nods.

“For how long?”

“As long as he wants, I guess,” Gladio shrugs, arms wrapped around Noctis.

“Forever,” Noctis clarifies. “Prompto’s never being returned to Niflheim.”

Prompto flushes, red and stiff, and ducking his head Ignis isn’t sure what he sees in the blonde. Is that relief? Confusion?

“If I might ask,” Ignis begins, “I know quite a bit about Gladiolus and I’m sure he knows a thing or two about me but… I’ve never heard of you Prompto. Can you fill us in a little…?”

“I, um…” Prompto toys with his fingers in his lap. “Verstael Besithia has been raising me in his laboratory up North. I’m not exactly his child or anything. I’m technically a clone, basically little more than an unspecified and unmodified MT.” Prompto twists his wrist up, revealing a black barcode peaking up from under his cuff.

“That’s…” Ignis fumbles for words, glancing briefly to Gladio who seems equally offended.

“And the Niffs call Lucians savages.” Gladio scoffs.

“It’s obscene,” Noctis murmurs into Gladio’s shoulder. His face is pinching into a pout and Ignis very quickly feels the temperature in the room start to drop. “Those people factory build humans and then torture them into soldiers. Prompto’s life was cruel and unfair. Verstael decided he was different from the others but he still had no rights and…” Noctis takes a tremulous deep breath, somewhere between angry and upset and the room temperature plummets another six degrees.

“But it’s alright,” Ignis interjects quickly as his companions begin to look discernibly nervous. “Noctis?” He draws the Astral’s attention gently. “It’s alright. Prompto’s with us now. We’ll take good care of him. Right, Gladio?”

“Yeah, of course,” Gladio assures quickly, nodding. “In Lucis Prompto will be my esteemed guest and no one will dare insult him. He’ll be safe.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Prompto speaks up all of a sudden despite Ignis willing him to shut up, “it feels nice to be special but… I’m not. I’m just a toy. I’m disposable, your Eminence. You don’t have to protect me. I’m sure there are lots of other good people in Niflheim who deserve—”

“No,” Noctis scowls. “It has to be you. I will only accept you. You are irreplaceable.”

“Your Eminence, you don’t know me—” Prompto starts to argue.

“I got to see things, with the Six, before I came down.” Noctis explains. “I don’t remember all of it but I saw into your heart and decided out of the three billion people on Eos you were one I wanted with me always. You are special, Prompto.”

Prompto looks back down into his lap, he looks sad, confused even, and Ignis suspects this is going to be difficult.

The room is still cold.

Noctis is upset.

“It sounds as if you’ve been raised in a very unhealthy environment, Prompto,” Ignis speaks up, trying to steer this back from the brink of disaster. Lord only knows what an upset Astral can do, even accidentally, in a hotel suite. “I understand it may take you some time to heal but I think Noctis very much wants to get to know you and we would like to show you a happier life. Maybe, if you could give it all a chance, it might not be so bad? Hmm?”

Prompto and Noctis are both watching Ignis closely, like children; innocent and hopeful. Prompto bites his lip and, turning back to his lap, nods quietly.

“Yeah,” he whispers. “I’m sorry. It’s just all new right now. I’ll try and just relax.”

“I’m sure no one blames you,” Ignis touches his knee very cautiously, eyes subtly darting to regard Noctis’ morphing expression. “Right Noctis?”

“I just want Prompto to be happy and safe,” Noctis nods keenly.

“We’ll make that happen,” Gladio promises, backing Ignis up in his attempt to uncoil the knot of tension filling the room. He rubs Noctis’ arm, holding him close. “Aren’t you cold?” Gladio remarks carefully. “I’m cold.”

“Huh?” Noctis startles, seeming to come back to himself.

Heat rushes back into the room, like a chord has just been broken, and, just like that, Noctis’ magic dissipates.

Ignis remembers how to breathe.

Thank the gods.

“Must’ve been the air conditioning,” Gladio dismisses, squeezing the Astral close. “Never mind.”

Noctis rests his head back against Gladio’s shoulder and softens like butter. Ignis and Gladio share another decidedly strategic glance. Noctis doesn’t seem to appreciate just how powerful he is yet. He doesn’t seem to understand a lot of things; human emotions, their fragility, his magic… They’ll need to be careful. That said Ignis suspects they can strike up a balance. Gladio seems to be good at reading his lead already. Prompto’s emotional, a liability frankly, but given his background its hardly surprising. They’ll need to manage both sets of emotions. Ignis suspects upsetting Prompto might have the knock-on effect of throwing Noctis into a full supernatural tantrum.

* * *

Dinner is an equally fraught affair. Prompto has never tried foreign food but he has a welcoming palette and he responds with cautious optimism when Gladio encourages him to eat as much as he wants. Noctis meanwhile is a picky eater. Ignis wonders if his senses are enhanced, making everything more intense and pronounced, but it seems Noctis just doesn’t like most vegetables. Keeping him from starving to death might be an ordeal.

After their meal they turn on the TV. Noctis refuses to watch the news so they eventually switch to an old action adventure movie on re-runs. Prompto, who’s been raised in a laboratory, and Noctis, who was literally hand crafted by the gods yesterday, are instantly entranced. They sit on the rug, backs to the couch, and watch every scene unfold with rapt enthusiasm. They’re so spellbound they hardly register when Ignis picks up his cigarettes and heads to the balcony.

Gladio notices however and following him onto the balcony the Prince closes the doors carefully behind them.

“This is going to be rough,” Gladio chuckles, coming to lean against the railing with Ignis. “But seems like you’ve got a good head on your shoulders. Nice quick thinking back there, Scientia.”

“You’re not too bad yourself,” Ignis untucks a cigarette, offering one to the Prince who declines. “We made a pretty good team today. I suspect keeping Noctis from nuking your capital could be interesting until we get the hang of his moods.”

“Yeah, especially with Blondie.” Gladio rues. “Fucking Niffs can’t even raise their young with kindness. Despicable.”

“Agreed,” Ignis nods. “Perhaps we should retire to somewhere with a bigger blast radius before taking Noctis to Insomnia? Do you think?”

“We have an estate out near Galdin Quay,” Gladio hums, “maybe while we get the little ones settled we should stay there? It’s calm, sort of a resort-slash-beach town. No one will bother us there and there’s plenty of wide open space.”

“Well… so long as you’re not particularly attached to the geographic outline of that region?” Ignis jokes dryly.

Gladio chuckles.

“Sounds like a good idea,” Ignis nods.

“I’ll organise it with my retainers,” Gladio assures, whipping out his phone. “I’ll just be a minute. Don’t feel you have to leave.”

“Thanks,” Ignis murmurs, puffing lazily on his cigarette.

Gladio makes the call. Ignis finishes his cigarette. Settled, thoughts collected, understanding achieved, they shuffle back into the hotel room. Prompto and Noctis are still spellbound next to each other. Prompto is evidently still a little cautious about being touched but he lets Noctis hold his hand on the rug between them. Noctis has laced their fingers intimately and looks to be rubbing his thumb into the back of Prompto’s hand when they return.

“Apologies,” Ignis whispers as he reclaims his seat. “Didn’t miss us I hope?”

“Is everything alright?” Noctis asks.

“Yeah, of course,” Gladio assures. “Ignis just wanted a cigarette and I needed a little fresh air. Ignis actually made a good suggestion.”

“Hmm?” Noctis glances between them.

“I’ve never been to Lucis,” Ignis elaborates, “Gladio says the coast is beautiful. I wondered if we might spend a little time in the country before we go to Insomnia?”

“That sounds nice,” Noctis chirps. “Can we fish?”

Ignis glances, confused, to Gladio.

“Uh—”

“Yeah! Sure!” Gladio laughs. “There’s fishing. Do you want to fish?”

“I want to fish.” Noctis nods curtly. “It sounds like fun.”

Ignis snorts, a touch bemused, but, hey, if the godling says he wants to fish who is Ignis to argue?

“That being said,” Gladio leans into his knees, “we’ve got an early start ahead of us tomorrow. We should probably retire for the night.”

“I suppose…” Noctis consents, glancing back to the rolling credits of his movie.

“There are more than enough beds.” Gladio assures. “Noctis why don’t you—”

Noctis and Prompto start arguing almost immediately.

Ignis hushes them.

“Okay, okay…” he hushes. “One at a time with registering your complaints, please.”

“I don’t want to sleep alone,” Noctis pouts. “Will you…?”

“I…” Ignis hesitates, glancing to Gladio but Gladio doesn’t seem keen to fly to his rescue for this one. “Of course, Noctis. We can share the master. If you would like?”

Noctis nods.

“Prompto?” Ignis permits next.

“C-can I just sleep on the couch?” Prompto pleads.

“Why?” Gladio frowns.

“The…” Prompto blushes, ducking his head. “The beds are too big. It makes me nervous.”

“You can share with Gladio,” Ignis volunteers, feeling a little vengeful. Gladio stiffens, meeting his gaze pointedly, but damn it if Ignis has to walk on eggshells all night sleeping next to a supernatural being then Gladio can take the trauma victim.

“Is that…?” Prompto looks sheepishly between them.

“That’s fine,” Gladio assures with a tight smile. “It’s important you get a good rest, on a proper mattress, or tomorrow will be hard.”

Ignis is not a single parent in this equation. He’s not doing this all alone. Gladio can’t opt out of the hard stuff. Ignis tries to communicate as much in his smug smirk and Gladio seems to understand perfectly given his unimpressed huff.

Gladio’s staff provide them with toothbrushes and sleeping clothes, which is all well and good, but Noctis seems intent on sleeping in the boxers rather than the plaid pants. Ignis schools himself. He is a noble. He was chosen by the fucking gods. He can handle sleeping next to an elfin boy with dangerously long legs without popping a hard on. Right…?

Ignis has heard countless stories of Astrals taking human lovers but he doesn’t want to push his luck on his first night in captivity. This is a complicated situation and he doesn’t much like the idea of fucking where he has to eat. Until he knows his bunkmates better, until he knows their dynamic better, he’s not pushing it. Noctis is beautiful, fuck they’re all beautiful in their own ways, but Noctis could literally kill him with a mood swing and Ignis is not about that life.

Ignis has always preferred men. This seems to be some fantastical trial formulated to test his endurance honestly. He has spent the last week keeping his greedy hands off Altissian men and now… yeah, tonight won’t be fun, and he suspects Noctis isn’t just going to curl up in his corner of the bed either.

No, sure enough, Noctis slips under the covers and right into his arms. Noctis slots against him like he was made for the position. He fits perfectly as Ignis’ little spoon and he ducks his head down and Ignis tries to compose himself. He wants to stroke those bare legs, he wants to nibble that delicate ear, he wants—

It doesn’t matter.

He needs to sleep.

“Night Iggy,” Noctis whispers into his clavicle fondly, pleased with his spot.

“Goodnight Noctis,” Ignis switches off the bedside light, arm slipping back around he Astral.

He’s worried, for a second, that his eyes aren’t adjusting to the darkness of the room properly but, no, Noctis is just softly glowing. It’s not enough to be irritating or overly obvious. You could miss it if you weren’t paying attention but, sure enough, there’s a little shimmer to him in the darkness and his touch still make Ignis tingle in the best way possible.

Ignis is so fucked.

He takes a deep breath and tries to nod off.

He’s hyper aware of every little motion of Noctis settling against him. Despite his best efforts he is sorely tempted.

Eventually Ignis says fuck it.

He’s not going to push too hard but he can only fight it so much. Ignis gathers the Astral closer, starts stroking his back, nuzzling his hair… its fond, it’s intimate, and perhaps its overstepping but Noctis shifts impossibly closer and practically starts purring. Noctis wants to be held, desperately.

Yeah, this is going to be hard. Ignis already cares way too much about Noctis, about Prompto, even about being partners with Gladio in this. He should be careful, he just…

But, hey, little luxuries…? 


End file.
